


Out of Time

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [45]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: There's one last chance to save their relationship, but can it be done in time...?





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Time
> 
> These one-shots have turned into something of a continuing story. While most can stand on its own, based on its prompt, if it fits, I will be reordering them around to fit the tale chronologically. The mini series begins here with "Out of Time" and goes forward until it ends with "Love Letters in the Attic."

It had been a bad argument. Really bad.

Greg was in the middle of a serial rapist case, but he had taken the time to call Mycroft only to eventually learn the man was not in the country. It was worse when Mycroft hadn’t called home.

Greg knew it was work related.

It was always work related.

He had not been treated this off-handily before they became close. Yet the closer they became, the worse it got. When they finally spoke, it blew up into an argument that Mycroft shut down with not having the time for such.

And Greg was tired of it.

++++++++++++++++++ 

Mycroft thought he had time. Greg always came around when given enough time to cool off.

When the heated deliberations between the two Eastern European nations went sideways, Mycroft did as he always did. He hopped on a plane and worked hard in the background to get things back on track. Regrettably that also meant he was incommunicado for the entire week it took to get all the feathers unruffled.

Sherlock had advised him not to go, but his brother did not understand. Neither he nor John had the same kind of work pressures as he and Greg. After all, it was Greg’s job that sometimes caused the disruptions, no, not as much as Mycroft’s job but Greg always understood about his work.

Thus, Mycroft thought nothing of it at the time when his jet landed in Heathrow and he called Greg but it went straight to voicemail. When Greg had a busy day, sometimes the mobile died on him, or he may have been in a dead zone, it happened.

However, the moment he walked in the door of their home, he knew.

++++++++++++++++++

They had eight amazing years as a couple, plus the years of knowing him before they got together. Greg knew nothing would ever match the excitement, the magic, of being with Mycroft Holmes. Yet he also knew nothing would ever match the carelessness, the being taken for granted; the always placing seemingly everything and everyone else ahead of the two of them – ahead of _him_. 

They were supposed to meet for yet another reconciliatory dinner, but Mycroft did not show up. The dinner was supposed to be Mycroft trying to prove that Greg was not being pushed even further down on the government official’s ladder of importance. And again, no phone call. There was nothing unusual in that, Mycroft had gone suddenly incommunicado before. Nature of his business, Greg told himself as he walked out of the restaurant alone and furious an hour later.

It was the fourth day of no communication from Mycroft when Greg met up with John to watch a game and have a pint. He was fine until in the midst of conversation John offhandedly mentioned a cutting but well deserved snark Mycroft had laid on Sherlock when he had called to let his brother know he was on his way out of town. The moment he saw John's expression change he knew John realized that Mycroft had not given him the same courtesy. Nor was this was the first time he had up and left town on business without having given notice.

That was the last straw.

++++++++++++++++++

For a time, Mycroft had made it up to him…

Then he had to take time to deal with the Middle East factions.

And then time to deal with North Korea elections.

And then there was the time to… the time for… the time of…

Too much time and yet never enough.

++++++++++++++++++

After a three-month joint task force with NYPD to take down an international sex trafficking ring Greg jokingly received a job offer from them.

After some time, it was no longer a joke, but a serious offer.

It was given during the time Mycroft was again away on a mission that he again forgot to tell Greg about it before leaving.

Since his lover could not find time to say anything to him, he returned the favor.

++++++++++++++++++

Greg sat at the airport gate and read The Times on his tablet. Currently it was the London Times; in another day or so, it would be The New York Times.

Every few lines he would look up and glance around him.

Nothing.

The time for reconciliation, if any, was ticking down fast. Greg would not lie to himself, yes, he was running, he had to for his own sanity.

He knew it was bad when he realized Sherlock had taken to staying out of his sight when he worked with Dimmock, Hopkins or others in the squad room. Heartless as Sherlock could sometimes be, even he understood how much it hurt Greg to be reminded of his brother. That it had become so bad that he had Sherlock’s compassion and pity was too much.

There was a time Greg could have brushed it off; he simply could not do it anymore. His heart was shattered into too many pieces as it was.

And those pieces shattered into ever smaller fragments each time he thought of Mycroft, thought of what was and what is.

He had to leave, and he knew he had to leave his beloved UK to do it. Oh, he fully understood the man’s reach included New York City, but it would not be as easy. And whose fault is it anyway it all went to shite?

Greg looked around when the first call for boarding of the plane began.

Greg sat and waited for a time for even now a part of him held out a tiny bit of hope.

As each section was called, the gate had less and less people in it and that tiny bit of hope had begun to shrink.

Greg sat and hoped for a little time more.

The final sections were called.

Greg sat and prayed for a time.

He heard his name paged the first time.

He looked at his mobile one last time.

“Paging Gregory Lestrade final call. Please report to the gate.”

He stood and took a final look around. Nothing but empty seats surrounded him. The only thing standing at the gate was the support column and him.

Greg pocketed his mobile and picked up his carryon.

Time to go.

++++++++++++++++++

Behind the support column, a man stood just outside of the line of vision as the doors of the mobile walkway to the plane closed behind the last man to board the flight from Heathrow to John F. Kennedy.

The man stood with his mobile in hand, a number waited to be called. All he had to do to was push the button.

He knew everything he ever wanted was on that flight.

He knew he was about to lose everything he ever wanted if he did not dial.

He told himself:

There was still time the plane has not left the gate yet... 

Still time, the plane still taxied on the tarmac…

The plane had not left the runway…

Mycroft looked at the engagement ring in his hand and then watched as the plane, as his love, as his heart, as his life flew away…

He was out of time.


End file.
